The musing of a servant girl
by cattuesmountain
Summary: Do you remember the scene where Catherine tells Diane that she's glad that she doesn't have Henry grinding on top of her because he's having fun with others? This scene was haunting me for a long time and I always wanted to bring it up in another context.
1. The musing of a servant girl

_**Disclaimer:**_ "Reign" or the characters used in it are not mine, sad but true :-( Violations of any rights are not intended.  
 _ **Pairing:**_ kind of Catherine/Henry – Cathry  
 _ **Rating:**_ T  
 _ **Catergory:**_ other person POV  
 _ **Remarks:**_ like all my other fanfiction, this story has been written in my native language and I've translated it.

* * *

Do you remember the scene where Catherine tells Diane that she's glad that she doesn't have Henry grinding on top of her because he's having fun with others? This scene was haunting me for a long time and I always wanted to bring it up in another context.

So I just came up with this little idea as I needed to write some fluffy little piece as a stand alone. I actually love unusual POV's and I needed to experiment with in-eye-view and take a short break from the bigger projects to be able to finish something. I hope some of you enjoy this little excursion into a strangers point of view.

* * *

 **The musing of a servant girl**

Huge snowflakes dance through the cloudy winter sky in a dense drift of snow and bury the royal gardens under a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow. Frost traceries have formed on the glass of the windows that ray in a silver glint in the pale shine of fire- and candlelight. I love the winter, the purity of the first snow and its power to spread a cloak of calmness over the land.  
"Don't stare into space, girl. Make haste!" Claudette's words jar me out of my reverie and remind me that I am not here to lose myself in daydreams. I swallow briefly, then I nod and tear myself away from the captivating sight of pre-Christmas quietness of the outside world to bring myself back to the here and now.

There is some hectic hustle and bustle going on that finally catches up on me. Housemaids, kitchen boys and the servants of the royal family whir around the bakehouse, preparing the afternoon tea for the ladies' salon. The baker's wife is still busy decorating an impressive, three-tier cake with cream and fresh fruit at the other end of the room, while her husband yells at one of the lads that burnt a pot of semolina.

"Will you kindly make yourself useful?!" Claudette, our head of kitchen staff, hisses and thrusts two cans of boiling hot, freshly brewed tea in my hands and shoos me out of the bakehouse.

"Shall I really ... I mean, I've never...?" I nearly choke on the unspoken words that are stuck in my throat. But nobody is here to answer my question anyway.

I stare at the cans in my hands in confusion. The hot handles are already queasily burning my fingers.  
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Michelle appears behind me with a tray full of pastry and biscuits that smell like cinnamon and fresh gingerbread. I follow her, glad that I don't have to face the highborn principalities all by myself.

This is the first time the task of serving her royal Highness and her ladies in waiting has fallen to me. So far - apart from my duties in the kitchen - I have only been allowed to set the table, carry out cold plates, clear tables or polish cutlery.

With increasing nervousness I hurry after Michelle who does not even seem to be the least bit excited about our upcoming task.  
Michelle is two years older than me. She comes from a nearby village and has been working in the castle for over a year now. Unlike me, Michelle is tall and thin like a broomstick. She has hazel eyes and auburn hair she has to hide under a grey hood like me. I know that she dreams of ascending the position of her Majesties chambermaid.

I for my part have only met Queen Catherine twice and I would be lying if one of those encounters had not terribly frightened me, even if her harsh words weren't meant for me but for the poor clumsy boy who had almost collided with her Grace. Just the thought of this incident makes me break out into a cold sweat. I never want to be at the receiving end of a display of bad temper of the legendary Medici Queen.

The guard immediately opens the door as soon as we reach the salon and a second later I find myself drawn into a completely different world. Elegant ladies in beautiful, elaborate robes that shine in all colors of the rainbow have gathered here to spend the afternoon in the company of her Majesty. And while I'm still mesmerized by the sight of feminine beauty and grace, Michelle steers for an enormous table where she puts down her heavy plate. I want to copy her but she just shakes her head vigorously.  
"No silly, we' re going to serve the tea," she informs me and I stare at her blankly while my knees go weak and threaten to quit their service.  
"What?" I croak out and am rudely pulled aside by Michelle to make room for two young men carrying in the splendid cake.  
"It's very simple, you just ask the lady if she would like to have some and then you pour her tea." She pushes me towards a table where the Queen of Scots sits with her ladies in waiting.

"Um, tea?", I stutter with an unnaturally high voice while I wait for the ground to open up and swallow me. To my surprise, Queen Mary gives me a hearty, almost comforting smile and nods her head. I'm trying for a smile as well but I'm rather sure that it looks more like a grimace. My hands are shaking while filling her cup first and then the cups for Lady Lola, Lady Aylee and Lady Kenna.

"She has some nerve showing up here!" The latter suddenly hisses and for a brief moment I assume that she's talking about me. But then I notice that the eyes of all ladies are directed at an older, dark-haired woman in a jade-green dress, who has just entered the salon. Lady Diane de Portiers, the official mistress of the King.  
"She has as much right to be here as you do." Lady Aylee counters with a lowered voice and sips at her tea. Her hair has the same color as mine, but unlike me she wears it down and loose, except for some braided strands that are beautifully crested with plenty of beads.  
The dark-haired Lady Kenna shakes her head in annoyance and starts complaining about the other woman.  
I curtsy awkwardly but none of them takes notice so I remove myself from their table to offer the other ladies present some tea.

To my surprise, a similarly heated discussion is taking place at the next table, but this time it's about Lady Kenna. Lady Eugenie, a dark-haired beauty and only a few years older than Lady Kenna, is leaning over to her acquaintance, a weighty old lady with gray hair and a pinched expression on her wrinkled face. Eugenie is wearing a dream made of turquoise-blue silk with a daring neckline and has only arrived at court two days ago. And she is quite obviously upset about his Majesty's young concubine.  
"No man appreciates being pressed by a woman. Especially not a King. The flesh may be ever so firm and her body willing. I've heard that he has even forbidden her to open her mouth while banging her because he can no longer bear her voice. What a pesky little thing."  
The older of the two women pats Lady Eugenie's hand in a reassuring gesture.  
"Do not fret about this dull child. Surely King Henry will be more than happy about your visit, my dear." Then both of them throw an angry glare in Lady Kenna direction who wasn't even aware of being in focus of their hostile tirade.

I turn away, trying to block out the conversations I've picked up but to no avail.  
Involuntarily my gaze wanders to the table Michelle has claimed for herself. The one where her Royal Highness, Catherine de Medici is sitting with two of her ladies in waiting.  
I look briefly at the queen and can not help but admire her for her straight and regal posture. Our monarch wears a high-necked red dress, adorned with plenty of black and golden embroidery. Unlike most women in this room, her hair is lavishly pinned up and only a few red-blond tresses frame her face occasionally or fall down her neck.  
Her intelligent and watchful hazel eyes are constantly wandering over those present in the salon. What is she thinking? Does she know that at least three of these women were sharing her husband's bed? If so, she was hiding her feelings well behind a mask of royal indifference.

When I notice that my jug is empty, I return to the table where someone promptly presses a knife into my hand and instructs me to cut the cake to hand it out to the ladies.  
Ironically Lady Diane is the first to appear in front of me and I cut off a reasonably sized piece of cake for her. Just when she is about to turn around and leave, Lady Kenna shows up next to the table. Her light, delicate lilac dress with transparent, barely there sleeves contrasts with the pompous, green dress of the older woman. I look questioningly in her direction, but she avidly ignores me and addresses her rival instead.

"I admire how carefree you can indulge in such an ample treat. Apparently Henry does not care whether there's an increase in your avoirdupois. Well, it seems you are in good company."  
Lady Kenna casts a derogatory glance towards the queen who is thankfully engrossed in a conversation with one of her ladies at this moment and does not witness her insult.  
"Evidently you don't know anything about Henry. He certainly appreciates soft feminin curves at the right places. Of course, a little naive girl with a boyish figure doesn't understand anything about men's needs."  
Lady Kenna has no answer to this insult and contents herself with throwing an angry glare at her rival. With a smug smile on her lips Lady Diane turns around and just leaves the younger one behind.

"What are you waiting for?! Just give me a slice of the gateau. A big one!" The King's young mistress harshly urges me on and I hurry to comply with her request.  
Before she can return to her table, Lady Eugenie appears right behind her and I pray to God that no other scene like the one I just witnessed will take place in front of me. But my prayers are in vain.  
"Oh look, my former lover's new plaything. Up close you look rather ordinary. That's almost disappointing." These rude words prompt Lady Kenna to turn around in annoyance.  
"How dare you say that?!" She asks angrily but Lady Eugenie just waves her off with a smile.  
"Just enjoy it as long as it lasts. But please do not wait for him tonight." Lady Eugenie takes a meaningful pause before she goes on. "After all, we are going to celebrate our reunion," she says dreamily.

"Well, I doubt that, my dear Lady Eugenie. As far as I can remember, Henry did not even shed a tear after your hasty departure three years ago. Come to think of it, he actually seemed rather relieved." Diane de Portiers has silently approached the two contestants like a predatory cat ready to attack and now all three of them are standing in front of my table, staring hostile at each other.  
I am nervously moving from one foot to the other, wishing myself far away. Away from this table, away from this salon, even away from court.

Driven by despair I let my eyes wander when no less than Catherine de Medici catches my eyes. And while I'm still wondering if it's even allowed to openly stare at the Queen of France, she signals for me to bring her a piece of cake. I eagerly nod like an idiot, cut off a generous piece for her and hurry to her table. As I approach her I almost faint when I sense the aura of power that surrounds this woman. With shaky hands I serve the cake while trying to catch my breath in order to get some oxygen into my lungs.

"Be a dear and pour me some more tea, child," she instructs me and I actually like the deep and melodious timbre of her voice once the biting undertone is gone. I curtsy awkwardly and hurry back to my table. To my relief the teapot has already been refilled so I immediately return to her Grace. First I serve her, then her ladies. This time my hands aren't shaking as badly as before.

"I admire you for your self-control and composure. Personally, I could not tolerate..."

One of her ladies who is incessantly staring at Kind Henry's three mistresses cuts herself off and raises her hand to cover her moth in alarm. "Excuse me, your Majesty, I should have..."  
"What is it you would have done in my position? Scratch out their pretty big eyes? Or maybe poison them? Oh, Mathilde, you have to look at it from a different perspective. They distract him while I can pursue my own goals rather undisturbed. Let him extend himself with them because that way I don't have him grinding on top of me."  
Her words provoke her ladies to giggle nervously and make my ears go hot. My face is probably turning red as a tomato.

"But judging by the number of his affairs, your husband should be a more than passable lover."  
It is not okay to overhear their conversation. But no matter how morally wrong this may be and how much it ashames me, I just can't walk away.  
"Maybe he could if he would make some serious effort. But who am I to tell? You'd better ask them." Catherine de Medici points at the women in question.

I shut my eyes for a second or two to collect myself. When I open them again I stare directly at King Henry who has appeared right behind his wife unnoticed. And judging by his grimly set face he has witnessed her disdainful evaluation of his abilities as a lover.

He walks around her table in complete silence and throws her an intense look that is difficult to interpret.

However, before he can address his Queen, Lady Diane, Lady Kenna and Lady Eugenie have spotted him and rush towards him. They literally surround him and tout for his attention. None of them is paying any attention to his facial expression which threatens to get out of control.

I risk a glimpse at his wife, who is watching the recent events taking place in front of her with an amused look on her face. Then she flashes her ladies a knowing glance I would probably interpreted as 'I've told you, haven't I?'  
I admire her for her calm stoicism and the superiority that exudes from every fiber of her being.  
But there is something else as well. Something vulnerable. And how can it not be there?  
According to the rumors her husband has been betraying her from the beginning of their marriage. I can not even imagine what it must feel like to be constantly exposed to public humiliation. To watch your own husband go after countless women right before your eyes.

"Henry, do tell that it's me you want to see tonight, yes!?" Lady Kenna purrs in a unbearable high voice that pulls me out of my thoughts.  
"We have not seen each other for years, Henry! You can not possibly prefer a night with this child over our reunion? "I feel ashamed on behalf of these women who debase themselves without any self-respect towards a man who looks anything but pleased.

Diane de Portiers, silently looking at his face, puts her hand on the Kings arm to let actions speak instead of words. But when she tries to make eye contact, he turns his attention away from her and looks with a thoughtful expression on his attractive face at his wife instead.

Her eyes meet his and it seems to me that an entire dialogue takes place between them in the few seconds they are staring at each other. To my surprise a mischievous smile appears on his lips the moment their connection breaks.  
Determined, he loosens the hands of his clingy mistresses from his arm and his chest, then he walks to the door without any haste.  
Before leaving the salon, however, Henry Valois turns around one more time, letting his eyes wander over the ladies present. Then they focus on his regal wife.  
"Catherine, I expect you in my chambers tonight."

Without giving her a chance to come up with an answer, the King leaves the room as sudden as he has appeared. Quite obviously he wasn't about to put up with her passing open criticism on his matrimonial and amorous skills.

A small sound of utter surprise escapes the Queen's throat and all eyes of the women present are directed at her. Catherine de Medici snorts angrily and stares at the closed door.  
"Henry!" Suddenly she jumps up and storms behind her husband with flying skirts.  
And despite this mix of anger, irritation and humiliation that is clearly written all over her beautiful face, she is still the most majestic person I've ever met.

The End


	2. The musing of a King

**Disclaimer:** "Reign" or the characters used in it are not mine, sad but true :-( Violations of any rights are not intended.  
 **Pairing:** Catherine/Henry – Cathry  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Catergory:** Henry POV  
 **Remarks:** like all my other fanfiction, this story has been written in my native language and I've translated it in all conscience.

Did you wonder about Henry's train of thoughts after the events of „The musing of a servant girl"? Me too – so here we are...

 **The musing of a King**

"Catherine, I expect you in my chambers tonight."  
While my words still echo from the high walls, I'm already hurrying down the dark corridor, counting silently down from five. Before I even reach one, the door of the lady's parlor is torn open and the clacking noise of high-heels can be heard.  
"Henry!"

I deliberately slow down my pace so that my Queen can catch up with me. I have difficulties suppressing the smile that threatens to lay itself on my lips due to her predictable reaction.  
The moment her little freckled hand grasps my arm, I put on a mask of grim determination and whirl around to face her.

"What is it, Catherine? I'm terribly busy and in kind of a hurry."  
Not quite the truth but neither a lie. I'm de facto in a hurry. In a hurry to flee from my wife and from the question why I let myself be carried away and ordered her into my bed under the prying eyes of the public.  
"Henry! Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable."

Her voice, which sounds one octave higher than usual, resonates with annoyance.  
I draw a sharp breath, exhale loudly and reach for her hand, that still rests on my arm.

"I wouldn't call it unacceptable for a man to claim what - in a matter of speaking - he's perfectly entitled to claim, woman." I remind her, and it's not for the first time I'm amazed that my fist can encircle her slender wrist completely.  
"And I forbid you to ever publicly question me or my abilities, of whatever nature." I release her hand and reach for a loose strand of hair instead.

The telling twinkle in her dark soulful eyes reveals that I'm in danger of becoming victim of her unrestrained Italian temper.  
So I grasp Catherine's chin with my hand and direct her face closer to mine. Before she can leash out at me with her sharp tongue, I reduce the distance between us to silence her protest with a kiss.

I can feel her surprise over my actions and make use of her astonishment by pulling her even closer and enfolding her in my arms while my tongue vehemently demands entry, which she finally grants after a brief moment of incertitude.  
With a cute little sigh, Catherine opens her lips and kisses me back. I don't even lose a second and let our kiss become more intense, all the while taking what she is willing to give until I'm losing myself in the marvelous feeling of her soft lips against mine.

After what feels like an eternity, a lack of oxygen forces me to release her burning lips.  
Without moving apart, I let my lips glide over her velvety cheek until I reach her ear. Hungrily my tongue traces the contour of her auricle. I feel Catherine shiver in my arms which prompts me to gently nibble on her earlobe.  
"Wear something nice for me, okay!?", I whisper hoarsely and press my growing erection against her midsection to give her a little foretaste of the pleasures that await her.

As not to run the risk of losing my self-composure now and here, I release my wife to look at her more closely. The prevailing anger has disappeared from her eyes. Although her cheeks are flushed and her lips seem slightly swollen.  
"Henry?", She looks at me questioningly and her unfamiliar uncertainty makes me smile.

I grab her hand and bring it to my lips.  
"Till later then, my Queen."

* * *

I don't like waiting. I actually hate it with a vehemence that is second to none. And people who are able to wait with patience and restraint for the things to come, they are a mystery to me. How can you just accept your fate idly in the hope that everything will turn out all right? When it virtually begs us to defiantly confront it with one's head raised.

No one knows that better than my stubborn wife and yet she decided to let me wait.  
But is this just a form of sweetst torture or another sign of her insubordination and impertinence? I wonder if I should send for her, but neglect the thought. Catherine will turn up sooner or later and meanwhile I can practice some patience.

It doesn't take long before my impatience drives me out of the chair and over to the window. The flickering lights of the candlesticks are reflected in the glass and divert my gaze out into the darkness.

The whole day I've perceived an uncharacteristic excitement and even if I would like to deny it, it's the idea of being able to make love to my wife tonight that had triggered these feelings.  
An occasion I admittedly precipitate only seldomly.  
Which is neither due to Catherine in person nor her qualities as a lover.

For between the sheets, my dear wife behaves as unpredictable and feisty, as she does in general. A bundle of energy, sparkling with passion and determination, as long as she decides to indulge her passion. And contrary to her claims regarding my abilities as a lover, I also know from first-hand experiences that she actually enjoys my intimate touches once she permits herself these pleasures.

It's rather the complications that follow, that make me avoid my wife's bed.  
For Catherine loves as passionately ash she hates. Moreover, she is stubborn, mulish and a master at undermining my authority.  
In short, the most strenuous woman I've ever met.

Every rapprochement between us involuntarily creates new tensions and conflicts, most of which revolve around Diane and her position in my life.

I'm not willing to give up my mistress. For Diane, in contrast to Catherine, is of a gentler nature and with her not every encounter, every conversation ends in a continual, tiring struggle.  
She is easier to control and happy with whatever I'm willing to offer her.  
Her love is as simple and light as a mild summer burst, while Catherine's love is in no way inferior to the force of a wild thunderstorm.

I know that Diane has anything but friendly feelings for my wife as well, even though she thinks she can hide it. But unlike Catherine, she does not live out her aversions quite as openly.

In my own way, I love both women. Catherine for being exactly the queen France needs and I could not have wished for a better mother for my children. Whereas Diane is the woman who gives me encouragement and makes me forget the burden on my shoulders from time to time.

There have been times when my sweet little Caterina has been all this for me and so much more, but these times are long gone.

Shortly after Elisabeth has been born, we have admitted the failure of our marriage to ourselves and started to emotionally grow apart. From this point on our sex has been purely mechanical and only meant to conceive more heirs. And heirs she has given me plenty.

But every now and then that fire of passion, the one that probably has never completely become extinct, had captured us time and again. And each time these lapses and the resulting consequences have deeply hurt the two women in my life.

Diane, who I unintentionally remind of the fact that, contrary to my words, I still have feelings for my wife and Catherine, whose heart breaks each time I leave her after a sweet night of passion to return into Diane's arms.

Sometimes I wish Catherine were a man. Her courage, her boldness and her loyalty would make her the perfect companion. One a man could win wars with, conquer countries or make bodies disappear unnoticed. This way, the strange attraction I feel for her would have been eliminated as well. But it is pointless to think about such things.

Because men and women can not share such a bond. Especially not if the woman in question is Catherine de Medici.

Sometimes her mere presence in the same room, with her rigid posture and a stubbornly raised chin, suffices to picture me dragging her into my room to either spank her or lay her. Preferably both in exactly this order.

Just as my thoughts are threatening to slide down the slippery path of my imagination, the door opens and the protagonist of this intellectual game enters my chambers.

But instead of putting on a face of gleeful anticipation, Catherine wears a grim expression which augurs ill fate. Nevertheless, I force myself to smile encouragingly at my wife and even renounce from teasing her about her late appearance.  
But all my efforts deflect off Catherine, who walks through the room with a stony expression on her pretty face, all the while refusing to even look at me.

She stops in front of the bed, sighs loudly as well as theatrically and strips off her dressing-gown, which glides carelessly to the floor.

The sight of her nightgown makes me laugh out loud in amusement. Catherine is wearing the ugliest and most shapeless nightdress I've ever seen. It is beige, puffy and hangs down on her like an old potato sack, capable of hiding even the slightest sign of feminine curves.

No one else on this earth knows better how to verbalize their displeasure about my actions like my wife does. Even without wasting any word on it.  
I ignore her silent protest nonetheless and courageously approach her.

And there it is again, that telltale, dangerous-looking glint in her eyes that may deter others but has the effect of an aphrodisiac on me.  
"Where did you resurrect this beautiful piece of cloth?", I tease her and playfully pull on the lacing until it begins to loosen.

"Are you seeking meaningless smalltalk or do you want to have sex?" With these words, she pulls away from me, circles my bed and let herself fall on her back on the mattress. Then she slightly bents her knees and looks up to me in annoyance. "Let's get it over with. Henri is sick. I want to get back to my chambers as soon as possible in case he feels worse or needs his mother."

Her statement makes me swallow hard and gives evidence that her attempt of making me feel guilty has been successful.  
"I'm convinced that his nanny will take great care of our son," I reply, taking position right next to her on the mattress. Like this afternoon I reach for her chin and caress her soft and warm skin for a moment before bending down to kiss her tenderly.

Unsurprisingly, Catherine strives for apathy. But I've never shied away from a challenge and today won't certainly be the first time. After all, it was my dear wife who has challenged my ability as a lover in public. A shame I certainly won't stand for.

I eagerly make short work oft the ribbons of her nightgown and expose her upper body.  
The sight of her shapely breasts makes my mouth water and the desire to run my tongue over her pink nipples becomes overwhelming all of a sudden. I arche to nibble on those rosy peaks.

So I move from thoughts to deeds and catch her left nipple with my lips, which elicits a cry of surprise from Catherine that grows into a soft moan as soon as I begin to suck on it.  
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her fingers grasp my sheets.  
I suck and nibble alternately, circle her areola with the tip of my tongue while my hands caress her other breast tenderly.

Then I let my fingers slide down her curvaceous body to resolutely push up her outrageous nightgown. I nibble on her nipple one last time before tearing away from her breasts. I let my lips wander down her stomach in a trail of open mouthed, hot kisses. Just before reaching her pubic mound I stop myself, enjoy the feeling of sparkling anticipation that rises and causes my whole body to vibrate.

I shift my position to take position directly between her spread thighs. I take a moment to look at the sensual, quivering creature in front of me. When I feel her growing unease, I bend over and lick her private parts.

Catherine utters a surprised cry and tries to twist herself free from my prying tongue. But I relentlessly grasp her thighs and force her to remain in her position - completely open and vulnerable.  
"Henry ...", her voice breaks and I look up from between her thighs.  
"Yes, Catherine?" I ask provocatively and blow on her swollen clitoris.  
"You wanted to... oh my god! You wanted sex."  
"Later, lover. First I want to make you scream." I whisper and go back to licking her vulva. As my lips brush her clit, Catherine's legs twitch briefly before she rears up against me.

To increase her desire, I use my hand as an aid and penetrate her first with one, then with two fingers while my tongue stimulates her clitoris unceasingly.  
I take my time with driving her to the brink of ecstasy, only to pause just in time for her to come down a bit. A sweet, almost unbearable torment that makes my queen squirming underneath me.

Only when a desperate whimper escapes her lips, I show her some mercy with one last lick that sends Catherine over the brink in a sensual whirl of purest bliss.  
Her small, hot body begins to twitch uncontrollably and this sight increases my own excitement.

I take position on top of her, enjoying our full body contact and lean down to her. The moment my lips touch hers, Catherine returns my kiss with wild, unbridled passion.  
Just when I'm about to lose myself, there is a loud knock at the door.

"Go away!" I yell without letting go of my wife, but Catherine suddenly pushes me away as if come to her senses.  
"It could be about Henri," she hisses and before I know it, she calls: "Come in!"

And while the door opens and my wife hurries to straighten her nightgown, I find myself rolling to the edge of the mattress, trying to hide the evidence of my passion under a sheet.

"Your Majesties, please pardon the disruption. But little Henri is feverish and the prince is crying for his mother." The dark-haired woman, who is accompanied by one of my guards, seems ashamed and mainly stares at the floor. Her cheeks are red with embarrassment and she doesn't dare to make eye contact.

"Then go and get my boy," Catherine decides resolutely, and I can only hope that she can soothe the boy quickest possible.  
"Of cours, Your Grace." As fast as the woman appeared, she also takes flight.

Catherine avoids looking at me when she gets up and puts on her robe. I sigh heavily and watch her in silence, all the while trying to ignore my throbbing errection.  
As she gets ready to leave my chambers, I collect myself and call her back.  
"Stay, Catherine." My words prompt her to pause. With a small sad smile on her face she turns to me.

"Henri needs me," she whispers almost imploringly and I need a second to realize that she thinks I'm putting the satisfaction of my lowest instincts over the well-being of our son.  
"What I mean is: Stay with me and let them bring Henri to my chambers." I haste to correct my request. Her puzzled look speaks volumes.  
"I will not send him back unless he's feeling better," she warns me and I nod obediently.

Although I do not know the details of my sons condition, I strongly suspect that I won't have sex with his mother this night.  
"Guards! Let the nanny bring Henri to my chambers, "I order and seal my own fate.

Few minutes later, Catherine has tucked the five-year-old in my bed and she's now gently and reassuringly whispering to the miserable-looking child. Henri is too ill to even bother with my very presence. I'm not sure if he even noticed me in his distress.

For me, however, this situation is a revelation. I haven't witnessed Catherine in her role as caring mother for a long time and her warmth and dedication to this child warms my own heart.  
How could I ever blame my wife for being incapable of love?

This unfamiliar yet soft side of her touches something inside of me. Deeper and so much more intense than simple sex could ever do. Even though I would be anything but averse from continuing our marital activities. But certainly not tonight.

It takes another thirty minutes for Henri to fall asleep in his mother's arms. I gaze at Catherine over my fair-haired son's head. To my surprise she answeres with a small, withdrawn smile. Silently I reach for her and stroke her cheek in a loving gesture.  
This moment I wish for being able to hold her in my arms.

After thinking about this desire in particular and Catherine in general, I quietly get up. Then I gently reach for Henri to lift him over to my now vacant side of the bed.

My wife throws me an irritated look and slips into the middle of the bed to reach for her child. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.  
With a bright smile on my face I circle the bed and sit down on her side of the mattress.

After blowing out the candles, I roll over in Catherine's direction. Even in the dark, I am able to find her immediately and pull her into my arms.  
"Much better now," I murmur contentedly and tenderly stroke over her side and costal arch.

"Maybe you would like to spend tomorrow night in my chambers as well?" I murmur softly.  
This time it's not an order but an invitation. An unexpected nervousness spreads in my chest while I wait for her answer with bated breath.  
"Maybe," whispers my wife after a brief pause and moves her finger-tips over my arm in a loving caress.

Then I close my eyes – a smug grin on my face - and bury my nose in her soft hair.

 **That's it, tada! I hope you enjoyed this little fluffy piece.**  
 **I would like to thank you for your reviews for "The musing of a servant girl". You're the best, I hope you know that.**

 **One last remark: I'm off to Namibia next week so don't expect new updates for the next 3-4 weeks. I will write some more (pen & paper – how very oldschool) but I won't take my notebook.**  
 **See you all in July or maybe on Insta. ;o)**


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